how can you swallow so much sleep?
by exploding-empires
Summary: storm [noun]: a violent disturbance of the atmosphere with strong winds and usually rain, thunder, lightning, or snow; a tumultuous reaction; an uproar or controversy; a violent or noisy outburst of a specified feeling or reaction. -— effy/cook


**a/n**: this doesn't make a lot of sense but i wanted to write effy/cook. this is set after series four and kind of just ignoring the redux canon.  
**warning**: if shootings/murder/mental illness could be triggering for you, please _do not_ read this.**  
**

* * *

**how can you swallow so much sleep?**

"two brothers: one of them wants to take you apart. two brothers: one of them wants to put you back together. it's time to choose sides now. the stitches or the devouring mouth? you want an alibi? you don't get an alibi, you get two brothers."

* * *

They told me afterwards that the bullet had my name etched into it. I told them, tried to tell them, that I'd never meant for this to happen. I never asked you to kill anyone for me.

(But I did, didn't I?)

/

In the end, whether I intended this to happen or not doesn't matter, because it did. You did it. Don't tell them, but I'm not sure if I'm sorry he's dead. Do you know how much of a field day my psychiatrist would have with that? She's already convinced I'm crazy. I haven't decided yet.

Before, before he died - before they both died - I used to be different. I know that. It's taking a while, but I'm remembering, slowly. I remembered you first. The days on the boat with the race and the clumsy guy with the braces; what was his name? (And him, him, him.) Did you kill the other nasty man? Was he your father?

I like pretending I'm the way I was then. It was _fun_, wasn't it? I like smudging my eyeliner and backcombing my hair and wearing fishnet tights and pissing Mum off. I don't know how Mum feels about this. I keep getting confused about her and Dad not being together any more. I remember at the moment, but I don't remember why or when or how. It was probably after Tony. Most things happened after Tony.

I miss it. I miss the days on the boat. I miss kissing you and hating you and making him jealous. I thought that was why I did it, after a while. To make him jealous. I'm not so sure any more.

Does Panda ever come to visit?

/

I haven't been letting myself miss him. My psychiatrist gives me these exercises to help me remember, but mainly to help me get over him. I don't want to remember him. I don't want to get over him.

I can be honest with you, can't I? You said so yourself: we've fucked in every sense of the word. I'm trying, and it's difficult, but I'm trying to remember all the times. Everything we had, everything we were. I don't like it this way, constantly being behind you. I don't have anything any more, not even my memories. I hate that man. I'm glad you killed him.

We're such a bunch of freaks, Cook. You, the murderer, the madman who did it for love. (That's what they tell me, anyway. I'm not sure if what we have is love. I think it's more like air; it's a necessity and it's always been there and the second you were taken away I was stripped to the bone.) Me, the crazy girl with no memories, the crazy girl with the dead boyfriend and the lover who killed the boyfriend's murderer. It's a beautiful mess.

(Tony, the crazy girl's brother, half-crazy himself. _Tony, Tony, Tony_.)

I don't know if you can ever understand but I know that you'll try.

/

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

/

I forgot about this. No, shit, that's not right. I didn't forget about you. I thought you would like it if I tried to get better. So that's what I've been doing.

I can say his name now. E. Freddie, my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. The one who died for me.

That's still difficult. Two people _died_ for me, Cook, and you killed one of them. So that makes two people dead because of me and one a murderer because of me. Not bad, at eighteen, I'd say. (The nurse said I was getting my sense of humour back the other day. I don't remember having this sense of humour, but I'll take anything and everything I can get.)

I miss you. They didn't talk about the trial. I've always assumed you're in jail, but I suppose you could've pleaded self-defence. I hope you did.

Someone told me that in my life I'd have to choose between two boys. One of them would want to take me apart and the other would want to put me back together. If Freddie put me back together, do I have to fall apart again for you? Or was Freddie putting back the pieces you broke? I'm not sure but I'm beginning to think I'd take the devouring mouth over the stitches right now.

I didn't want to get over Freddie and I don't think I can. I'm taking baby steps: saying his name, talking about him, talking about us, opening up. Do I have to get over Freddie before I can move on?

I miss you. I don't know when I'll be able to see you. At least if you're in jail I should be able to see you. If that's where you are I hope you've had the sense to plead guilty and act nicely. It's the best hope you've got. (It's the best hope I've got. _We've_ got.)

They probably don't like you, do they? It was really fucking stupid, you running away from jail the last time. I'm sure you know that but maybe if I tell you again you'll believe me this time.

People come to see me quite often now. That was what started me thinking about you, you again, and where you were since the bullet hit him. (When did you start carrying a gun?)

Naomi, and Emily. NaomiandEmily. I like the way their names sound. I like the way they look together. I'm happy that they're happy. Katie came, too, and Pandora.

Panda. Panda Panda Panda. I missed her so much I didn't even realise until I saw her. It was as though half my stomach was missing and I'd numbed myself to the pain until she came. She sang the song again. Did she ever sing it to you? I don't know much about you two together. Did you speak? You both cared about me. I care about both of you. I'm not angry, not any more. I'm not angry about much nowadays. You'll probably laugh at that.

I like it when you laugh. I've missed the sound of your laughter.

/

He came again today. He's my favourite. I love him more than I ever loved Freddie, more than I loved you. Sorry. I can be a little bit insensitive, I guess. Or maybe I'm just a bitch.

Tony. Tony Tony Tony.

He pretended he wasn't, but he was crying a little bit. I can tell he's remembering. I feel sorry for Mum and Dad. No wonder they're divorced. Look at the shitty job they did bringing up their kids. It's a wonder social services never got involved.

Mum stayed out the room. I think she knew Tony didn't want her there. I didn't, either. Sometimes I think I was born backwards... you know, come out of my mum the wrong way. I hear words go past me backwards. The people I should love, I hate, and the people I hate...

I don't hate Mum any more, but I don't know if I love her as much as I should. She's like one of those really annoying kids at school: you don't hate them, you just like winding them up. Wait, no, that's Dad. It's weird, thinking of them as separate entities. Weird weird weird.

Tony said he was with Michelle again. I'm glad, but I always thought he would end up with Maxxie. Apparently Maxxie's in a long-term relationship. I think Tony knew what I was really asking. He didn't get annoyed, though. He never does; not with me.

Of course, you don't know Tony, or Michelle, or Maxxie. I keep forgetting that you weren't there, that I probably never told you. My memory is bisected into you, and before, and sometimes the lines blur.

I'll tell you about them one day. They were good. We were better than good, weren't we?

/

So, there it is. James Cook, sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of Dr. Foster. I'm not surprised, not really. I think I know why they didn't tell me before. I think they thought it would be the final straw, the final rope that would send me spiralling into madness when it was cut.

Do you know that I know? Do you know that I'm alive? I don't know what you know and I don't know what we are and I don't know where we go from here.

You could get out, Cook. Please. Please just be good, please be helpful, please be everything that will get you out. You're the only thing left. Please.

/

Memories flash and blur together and I have to concentrate or I'll forget something really important. I can't forget Freddie and Dr. Foster, I can't ever forget that. I think maybe if I do I'll lose everything else, too. I can't do that, not now. I worked hard to get better. I got better for you.

This is my apology. I fucked everything up for you and I know and I'm sorry. I ruined you and Freddie, I ruined your education, I got you in prison twice, I made you kill a man, and I broke your heart. But it's taken me a long time to put myself back together, too, and I can't help wondering how much longer it would have taken with Freddie.

I think you are a storm and I've always wanted to touch lightning.

Here I am with the pieces of myself in one hand and you in the other. I'm trying to work out whether I love you. I don't think I can, not like Freddie. I don't think I want to. I'm working on definitions. So far all I've got is Bonnie and Clyde '09.

/

I've always been crazy, haven't I?

* * *

"pick one. this is how you make the meaning, you take two things and try to define the space between them. jeff or jeff? who do you want to be?"

— **richard siken**


End file.
